The Cat's Cradle
by Hopefullymymomneverfindsthis
Summary: Arthur is boring, to say the least. Aside from his working in a cocktail lounge, he's the poster child for an average twenty-nine year old Brit with an average life. All he really wants is something simple, and he hopes to find that with a new employee at his law firm, an enthusiastic young American named Alfred.
1. New Employee

Pairings: US/UK with bits of Canada/Russia, Sweden/Finland, Prussia/Austria, Hungary/Liechtenstein, and Denmark/Norway

Rating may change depending.

(Disclaimer: Have some common sense, I don't own Hetalia.)

* * *

Chapter One: New Employee

"_And the weather is overcast today with highs at about ten degrees and lows at around sev-"_ Arthur shut the television off, annoyed at the droning voice that filled his living room only a moment ago. It wasn't as if he needed to be told the weather would be overcast anymore. It always was. Gray, dull, and unchanging, the heavy clouds would blanket the city and eventually lighten their load by dumping sheets upon sheets of rain onto London. God, he wished he lived somewhere sunny, but it was far-fetched. London was all he knew, and it was all he would ever know. Here, he knew how things worked, and he liked it that way. Everything was calm, orderly and controlled. He woke up, turned off the television in frustration, went to work, went home, ate, slept, and did it all over again, every day, every year, it was the same.

But today would not be like all the others. Today would be the start of a huge upset in Arthur's routine.

Arthur was not aware of this.

Arthur lived in a dingy apartment building in a sketchy neighborhood in the borough of Southwalk. He was not fabulously well-to-do, and so he lived in a cheap condo with no central heating and rats living in the ceiling. Arthur was less than content, but he was not miserable, and so he lived on, without lovers or family or pets. The few friends that Arthur did have were rarely more than drinking buddies or coworkers, and he had once had a lover for a brief time, a Frenchmen named Francis, but Arthur did not think of Francis much, as their relationship had been short-lived and primarily physical. Francis still came around from time to time.

Arthur straightened his thin black tie in front of the long mirror that hung in his hallway, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the dreary morning. Passing a spider's web that had been bedazzled with the early morning dew, he was reminded of a poem by Emily Dickinson that he had been taught in school.

_A Spider sewed at Night_

_Without a Light _

_Upon an Arc of White_

_If Ruff it was of Dame _

_Or Shroud of Gnome _

_Himself himself inform._

_Of Immortality  
__His Strategy  
__Was Physiognomy._

Arthur hadn't the faintest idea what Physiognomy was, but he didn't really need to, in his line of work. Arthur had once dreamed of being a great poet like Emily Dickinson when he was a young lad. He was, in all actuality, a piano player in a cocktail lounge, although he disliked saying that he worked in a cocktail lounge. He thought it sounded rather feminine for a grown man. Arthur was twenty-nine years old, an age at which one was generally considered to be a grown man.

Arthur didn't actually begin playing piano in the cocktail lounge (which was called The Cat's Cradle) until six o'clock. During the day, he was a secretary in a small law firm. Secretary, he thought as he walked, also sounded unappealingly feminine. He would prefer to be called a desk manager in the future.

The only coworker that Arthur really interacted with at the law firm was a timid Canadian boy named Matthew. Matthew was quite a bit younger than Arthur, maybe by six or so years, and Arthur enjoyed guiding him in working and living in general. This was ironic, because after being around for twenty-nine years, Arthur knew littler about working and living than he would care to admit.

By coincidence, he and Matthew arrived at the law firm simultaneously. They walked in together, chatting of the weather and whatever it was Matthew had seen on television the night before. Arthur never spoke of his life outside of work to Matthew. He was ashamed of his job in the cocktail lounge, secretly, and so he allowed Matthew to do most of the talking, occasionally interjecting with an opinion or a word of agreement. This was easy, because once the timid Canadian began to talk, he didn't stop until he was asked. Arthur had always found this to be an amusing and uncharacteristic trait of Matthew's.

As they walked to the desk, which they managed together, a few people greeted Arthur. Matthew, however, was only acknowledged by Ivan, a large, intimidating Russian bloke, who incidentally was the only person in the office who ever greeted Matthew. Everyone else in the firm seemed to forget about him more often that not. Even Arthur, on a rare occasion, would forget about Matthew. Arthur suspected that Matthew was the type of person that would be forgotten by an absent-minded parent.

By the way Matthew's faced changed hue when they passed Ivan, Arthur guessed that there was, or had been, something between them. This did not sit well with Arthur, and his mind was poisoned with images of such interactions between the huge Russian and the petite Canadian. He shook his head, as if to clear it of such things. But he couldn't. Oh, god, now he would think about this all day.

He and Matthew settled into their seats at the front desk and continued their chat. As secretaries, they never really had much to do unless the phone rang, or someone came into the office, or needed supplies, etc. The majority of their time was spent sitting and waiting for someone to require their services. Not that Arthur minded, of course. He would gladly do nothing all day and still get paid. As if insistent as to disturb their conversation, the telephone buzzed, and Arthur picked it up grudgingly.

"Hello?" It was Arthur and Matthew's boss, Mr. Oxenstierna, or Berwald, as most of the staff called him. Berwald mumbled something incomprehensible in his thick Swedish accent. "What do you need, Berwald?" Arthur asked as nicely as possible. He pitied Berwald sometimes. No one could understand him.

"Th'res a new 'mpl'yee 'nd h' n'ds h'lp g'tt'n up h're." Arthur understood that well enough, but...

"Sir, why can't Tino do it? Isn't it his job?" Tino was Berwald's Finnish, rather girly personal secretary. Arthur heard Berwald cough, his accent much thicker when he spoke.

"H's, er, b'sy." A soft moan of Berwald's name could be heard, and Arthur blushed in vivid understanding. His mind was running amuck with disturbing images this morning. He stood from his chair and walked down the stairs as quickly as his feet could carry him to the lobby of the building, where a handsome young blond was trying to get through the rotating doors in the wrong direction. Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "What the bloody hell..."

He hurried over to the boy to assist him. Arthur guessed that he couldn't have been over twenty-five, and he certainly bore the enthusiasm of a teenager. Once he maneuvered his way around the rotating doors, he trapped Arthur in a firm and vigorous hand-shake.

"Thanks a bunch, pal! Never would've gotten outta they by myself!" he laughed and pushed his stunning golden hair away from his forehead. "I'm Alfred by the way." He extended his hand again, but drew it back once he realized his error. Arthur was confused. There was something so blinding, so bright about this boy; he could have lit up an entire room just by walking in. Arthur's thoughts were jumbled, and he made the only connection he could find with the fog of information he had been given: "Alfred..." he said slowly. "Hitchcock?"

* * *

Arthur was now thoroughly embarrassed, his cheeks a bright red as he led a still giggling Alfred to the law firm's offices on the third floor of the building. Alfred shot him a devious grin, and Arthur furrowed his thick eyebrows and scowled.

"You can stop bloody laughing now, you know," he mumbled indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. Alfred wiped a small tear from his left eye and waved his hand in Arthur's direction.

"Sorry, sorry... It's just... Why Hitchcock?" He still chuckled slightly at this, earning a glare from Arthur.

"I don't bloody know!" the Englishman growled through gritted teeth. "It was the first thing that came to mind when you said that your name was Alfred, and I was …distracted!"

Alfred suddenly looked puzzled, and he cocked his head inquisitively.

"What was distracting?" he asked, genuinely curious in his inquiry, or so it seemed. Arthur suddenly felt very hot, and he pulled at his collar nervously, mumbling, "Well, I... I don't know, you I suppose..."

He said the last three words very quietly, uncertainly, and Alfred didn't appear to have heard them. They didn't exchange a single word until they reached the office.

* * *

Arthur stood again in his apartment, examining himself in the hallway mirror. He was dressed differently now, in a slim black suit, accompanied by a shiny black dress shirt and the same thin tie that he had worn this morning. He sighed, already fatigued at the prospect of working all night. Enjoy the piano as he did, it was still tiring to work thirteen hours a day. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

The interesting thing about Arthur's hours was that he didn't really have to work at the cocktail lounge on top of his secretary job, but he had taken the piano job in college, and after spending so much time there, he just didn't have the heart to quit. The extra money wasn't bad either, of course. He had formed friendships with his two coworkers, a handsome German man named Gilbert, who was the waiter, and Mathias, the Danish and completely psychotic and alcoholic bartender who didn't really belong as an employee in a functioning establishment. According to his story, the Dane had come to drink one night, been unable to pay for it, and Gilbert (who had been the bartender at the time) suggested that he work it off and hired him on the spot. Mathias, who preferred to be called Denmark (for national pride reasons) was wasted on the job more often than not, but no one minded. He spilled a few drinks, but he was infinitely entertaining to the customers, not to mention his good looks an charming personality.

Arthur arrived at the cocktail lounge at six PM on the dot. Denmark was attempting to drunkenly clean a glass with his bartender's cloth, and Gilbert was setting up for opening. He grinned as Arthur entered, his red eyes flashing mischievously.

"You're punctual, as always, Arthur," he said in a teasing tone that made Arthur uncomfortable. "There's someone I want you to meet. He's real cute, exactly your type I reckon, and-" Arthur's mood soured.

"For the last time, Gilbert. I don't need you setting me up with kids half my age. I'm perfectly content being single, and I-" Gilbert cut him off obnoxiously.

"No dude, I'm absolutely certain that you guys will get on awesomely!" Gilbert retained his usual enthusiasm, gesturing widely with his arms and knocking Denmark's glass from his hands. "Whoops! Sorry, dude!"

In his drunken haze, Denmark hardly noticed, and went about his merry business, grabbing another glass and continuing with his polishing. "No problem man! S'all cool!" Arthur winced as Denmark and his glass fell to the floor, but Gilbert paid the drunk no mind and grabbed Arthur by the wrist firmly and dragged him into the back room. The space had once been a kitchen, but the Cat's Cradle had long since ceased to serve food, save for the customary jar of pickled eggs that Gilbert kept on the bar, and now the kitchen was a resting place for the employees. There was one other waitress, named Elizabeta Hèdervàry, a beautiful Hungarian woman with hair the color of walnuts that hung past her waist. Now, Elizabeta sat in a plush leather chair in the corner of the room, sewing yet another lewd costume for her cute little teenage girlfriend, Lili. It looked like... nurse cosplay? Arthur's face distorted slightly, but he continued to walk with Gilbert. They turned a corner, and a handsome young blond came into view, grinning wildly. Arthur's jaw dropped. He stuttered and stammered, "Al-fr-fred? What the bloo- bloody h-hell are you..." He allowed his sentence to trail off. Alfred beamed and gripped Arthur's shoulder firmly.

"No way, man! What a crazy coincidence!" He laughed, rendering Arthur speechless and Gilbert utterly confused.

"You know each other?" he asked in amazement. Arthur nodded weakly.

"We're colleagues elsewhere..." he mumbled, pushing his hair back in agitation and sighing loudly. "Well," he groaned. "Welcome to the Cat's Cradle."

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Hope you liked this first chapter. I'm really psyched about writing this story. I mean, what's more awesome than UK, US, Prussia, Denmark, and Hungary all in one cocktail lounge? Am I right? The story and side plots are still somewhat open, so feel free to leave suggestions in a review.

Imagine Liechtenstein in a nurse costume.

Review!


	2. Bold

Chapter two!

Warning: An Alfred so cheesy, it may be contagious.

* * *

Chapter Two: Bold

Arthur sat on his piano stool in The Cat's Cradle, fingered dawdling on the keys and making out a slow tune. It was nothing in particular, just something he had thought up a moment ago and began to play, but he liked the sound of it. There were only a few people in the cocktail lounge, since the darker, drunker hours of the night had only just begun, and it was unusually quiet aside from Arthur's gentle melody resonating form the walls of the room. Denmark was, naturally, already drunk out of his mind, and entertaining a few quests at the bar by balancing several glasses on his head, shoulders, and arms. Arthur sighed, no longer looking at the keys of the piano as he played. Gilbert and Elizabeta were likely in the back room smoking; there were no customers to be waited on, after all.

The Cat's Cradle was a dingy sort of place. The wall lamps on either side of the bar, even when combined with the fluorescent bulbs that were implanted into the ceiling, provided very little light. Exposed floorboards of the room above dipped lower than they should have, and dark spots of mold accented their edges. Six tables were placed less than strategically around the room, each one decorated with a simple red hurricane candle and a drink menu. Four stools circled the grand piano, which were meant to be sat on as customers drank and talked using the piano as a counter. Gilbert always saw to it that the bar was well kept, but even the most loving care could not hide the age of wood and leather, and the bar top splintered and chipped in places, the leather of the stools tore in others, exposing their white stuffing. In the business of alcohol, however, appearance was of little importance.

Arthur turned his head from his piano as the door creaked open and a handsome young man wearing a tidy purple suit that complimented his chestnut brown locks stepped into the lounge with a decisive click of his shiny black shoes. He pushed up his glasses and glanced around the smoke-filled room skeptically before stepping to the side, allowing a blond teenager to enter the lounge. Arthur was almost certain that she was much to young to be in a cocktail lounge, and he estimated that she couldn't have been over seventeen. Gilbert peeked out of the back room at the sound of the door and immediately grinned, resembling a fox who had sighted a tasty morsel. Gilbert ducked back into the kitchen as the young man passed with his companion and sat at a table in the corner of the room, intertwining his pale fingers delicately and placing them on the table in front of him. The girl, who looked nervous and out of place, sat in the chair across from the young man, albeit not quite as gracefully.

Gilbert went out to serve the pair, leaning into the table and winking at the young man, accompanied by a 'Hey Roddy baby!' Arthur deduced that this was Roedrich, whom Gilbert was always rambling on about. Arthur was sure that they were sleeping together, but Gilbert never talked about it. Elizabeta winked at the girl sitting with Roedrich as she passed their table, blowing a kiss affectionately. Altogether, a peaceful evening. But that wasn't right. Where was Arthur's new upset? Where was Alfred?

As Arthur thought this, Alfred burst into the lounge violently with a cheerful "Hey!", and ran into the back room, colliding with Gilbert, knocking them both over, and completely dissolving the calm air of the lounge and welcoming the rowdy figures of the night. A local gang of drunks entered the lounge, leaning on one another's shoulders and whistling at Elizabeta, who stopped by Roedrich's table to kiss his young companion obsecenely before disappearing into the kitchen, causing Roedrich to choke on nothing at all. The men settled at the bar, ordering drinks and talking with Denmark loudly, gesturing often with the entire bodies and slamming their hands on the bar top. Denmark just laughed, telling the men that he would be out with them if it weren't for this damn job, and he served them their drinks and spilled a couple of them, but nobody minded. And so on.

There was one young man who stood out from the rest of his drunken lot, a composed blond with two bobby pins in the shape of an X keeping his hair from his forehead. He drank just like the rest of them, but the alcohol seemed to have no affect on him, and Denmark gave him constant lustful glances which were met with glares of a similar sort.

Arthur continued to move his fingers across the keys, although his playing could hardly be heard over the laughing and yelling of alcohol. Alfred emerged from the kitchen wearing a white dress shirt, black pants, and a neat little apron around his waist, looking irritatingly suave for such a young man, and Arthur scowled to him as he made his way to the piano and leaned against it, whistling tunelessly and grinning. Arthur twitched uncomfortably on his piano bench, sweating under Alfred's stare.

"So..." Alfred said. "You come here often?" He grinned like it was a joke, winking, and Arthur raised his hand from his piano just long enough to smack him lightly over the head, but the smile gracing the blond's lips never wavered. He positioned himself on one of the stools around the piano and rested his chin on his hand, eyes half closed and heavy lashes casting halos on his cheeks. He hummed along to the music quietly, allowing Arthur to finish his aimless tune. The melody came to a dwindling close, and the air hung with silence between Arthur and Alfred, who both fidgeted nervously in their seats. Alfred scratched his face awkwardly and lifted the weighted air, "That was really good. You, uh, come up with it all yourself?"

Arthur nodded curtly and began to play the third movement of Beethoven's fifth slowly, his fingers once again lingering on each pearly white key lazily. Alfred stood from his stool abruptly and circled around the piano to stand next to Arthur, who didn't dare look up. "Scoot over," he commanded, placing his hands on his hips childishly. Arthur was taken aback.

"I beg your pardon?" said Arthur, bewildered. By 'I beg your pardon', Arthur really meant 'What the fuck did you just say to me?', but that would have been terribly rude.

"Scoot!" Alfred repeated, not taking the hint and nudging the pianist half off the bench, sitting heavily next to Arthur. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows dramatically and stretched his fingers in front of him, preparing to what Arthur was sure would be a magnificent piece. Setting his long fingers on the piano with the class of Beethoven himself, Alfred began to play:

_B,A,G,A,B,B,B,A,A,A,G,D,D,B,A,G,A..._

Wait, isn't this Mary Had a Little Lamb?

_B,B,B,B,A,A,B,A_

It was definitely Mary Had a Little Lamb.

But to his great surprise, Arthur could do nothing but laugh and take Alfred's hands in his own, guiding him in a sloppy rendition of Green Sleeves. Lost in the fun, it took Arthur several seconds to look over at Alfred and realize that he wasn't looking at the piano at all, but gazing at Arthur from behind his glasses, blushing obviously even in the dimly lit room. Arthur immediately removed his hands and stared down at them, his face turning a hue of crimson that just couldn't be paralleled by any color wheel.

And still Alfred continued to stare, seemingly enchanted by the young pianist. Alfred slowly wrapped his own hand around Arthur's and mumbled, without his usual confidence, "Will you let me take you out on Saturday?"

Arthur wrenched his hand away as his tongue twisted and stumbled with the simplest sounds. Tangled thoughts allowed no leeway for him to stall, and so he said what he always fell back on;

"A-absolutely not." Alfred's face fell, and he stood from the piano and walked toward the kitchen rather dejectedly, grumbling something about getting back to work. Arthur felt awful.

_Why did I do that?_

Arthur could think of nothing else the entire evening, mulling and mulling and playing violent concertos just to get his confusion out. Alfred passed by many times, but their eyes never met, a painful silence pressing on Arthur's shoulders despite the boisterous noises of the lounge, and Arthur was not free of his thoughts until far into the night, after taking several sleeping pills and inhaling half a bottle of scotch.

And still, he dreamed of Alfred.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Arthur wanted to do anything but wake up the following morning. His head pulsed painfully as a side affect of the liquor he had consumed only hours before, and he looked an absolute wreck, his hair sticking up every which way and dark circles rimming his bloodshot eyes. The prospect of doing anything, let alone having a productive day at work, made his whole body feel heavy, and he prolonged his lazy and unmoving waking hours a bit too long, making him only slightly late for his day job, which was unusual for Arthur.

Matthew made more than a few comments on this as Arthur made his way into the office and seated himself behind the reception desk, much to Arthur's displeasure. He was sitting sluggishly in his rolling office chair, alone for a moment as Matthew went out on some miscellaneous errand, when he caught a glimpse on golden hair in his peripheral vision, at once filling his heart with dread. He had forgotten, in his sleep-induced state, all about the night before, about Alfred, and visions suddenly flooded his mind unpleasantly as he tried his best to avoid being seen. Unbearable embarrassment crept up his neck and he made a futile attempt to look busy and Alfred strode across the room. His mood was a world apart from what it had been in the lounge. His signature grin shone from his lips and his dazzling blue eyes twinkled and danced with unusual radiance. Arthur had expected him to be at least a little glum, and he was almost offended when he wasn't, but he was too alarmed for that. Alfred leaned on the desk, grinning earnestly at Arthur.

"Good morning baby," he chirped. Arthur was appalled at the intimate pet name. "You look pretty sexy with bedhead, I gotta say." He winked shamelessly, and Arthur gasped indignantly, quickly fussing with his hair.

"Why aren't you angry with me?" he fumed, utterly confused by the chipper American. Alfred raised an eyebrow quizzically, as though it hadn't even occurred to him that he should be upset.

"I'm not going to quit that easily," he laughed, placing a hand on his hip. Arthur didn't understand this maniac.

"Why not?" Alfred laughed at this too, like it was obvious.

"Because I love you," he said, his voice suddenly serious and sultry as a smirk flitted across his face before his default grin returned.

Arthur said nothing, baffled by Alfred's unbelievable boldness, and he pushed his hair back, sighing and looking Alfred in the eye.

"You sure you want to play this game?" Arthur questioned skeptically, his thick eyebrows knitting together.

Alfred grinned like a child with a new toy, and before Arthur could stop him, Alfred lifted the Englishman's hand to his lips, placing a light kiss upon it before saying, "You bet, baby."

* * *

A/N: Alfred, why are you so cheesy I am barfing sand.

A thousand thanks to the following reviewers!

**tealgirl713, Mister Kitty, MagicInTheDark, IncomprehensibleSparks, Iggy's Duckie, Ironicsheep**

**Teenage Mouse**: I can't believe I missed that, thanks for telling me. I fixed it!

Review!


	3. A Temporary Agreement

I'm really sorry this is so late, guys! I have an art show next Friday, and I pumped out 15 pieces in a week! So I didn't have a lot of time to write, but I hope this chapter is entertaining!

(Disclaimer: Why do i even have to say that I don't own Hetalia on a fanfiction site? I mean, really.)

* * *

For a week, Alfred nearly stalked Arthur, following him around the office in the day and sitting on the stools next to the piano in the lounge at night, grinning and showering Arthur with as many praises as he could muster. This effectively mortified Arthur, and he decided to confront Alfred and tell him that he truly and genuinely had no interest in Alfred and it would be great if he would leave Arthur alone, which was bollocks, naturally. Arthur had never been more attracted to someone in his entire life, and more than once he was tempted to give in to Alfred's persistent pursuit, but he knew better than that. He could only mean bad news for Alfred, after all. Alfred needed someone as young and bright as he was, not some thirty-year old man who would weigh him down and make his life a grey hell.

And so Arthur held out. He resisted Alfred's unrelenting attempts to woo him, and he shunned Alfred, which required all of his willpower. He wanted so badly to reach out, to touch Alfred and claim him, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. And so here he stood, staring into Alfred's dancing blue eyes and trying to think of a way, anyway, to tell this wonderful, innocent young man to step off.

They stood in a corner of the office, hidden partially by a tall potted plant that shielded them from their colleagues by way of bright, glossy leaves.

He considered shouting and getting angry, considered telling Alfred that he was irritating and ignorant, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to insult the American. No, he would have to think of something else.

"Alfred," he began, fidgeting with is hands, looking anywhere but to Alfred's hopeful expression. "I think I'd, ah..." Alfred stared at him, starry-eyed, expectant, grinning, obviously anticipating something better than what he was about to receive. It pained Arthur to say this, but he would have to eventually. "I'd like you to stop," he paused. "Following me about, that is."

Alfred's expression fell immediately.

"Why?" His tone was so oblivious, so honestly questioning, that Arthur almost gave in. Almost.

"It's..." he paused again, thinking. "... inappropriate." This remark seemed to hit home, and Alfred's eyes widened momentarily, and he looked genuinely affronted. Still, Alfred was childish in his words.

"You hate me," he said, pouting.

"No, I'm looking out for you. There is nothing good about me, and it's best that you give in right here," Arthur said, exasperated. He rubbed his temple gently in a weak attempt to ease the throbbing stress there. As much as he was unbearably attracted to Alfred, he was also frustrating at times, and frustration was far from what Arthur needed at the moment. "Look, it's not as if I don't like you. I'm just looking after you like anyone else would. You're so young, you could do much better than me."

And all at once, Alfred's features shifted, as they often did. He beamed, but not in his usual, cheerful, almost arrogant way. His smile was kind and forgiving, and at this moment, Arthur thought that Alfred was the most gorgeous individual he had ever set eyes on.

"I know you, Arthur," Alfred said smoothly. "You think you're just a big waste of space, don't you?"

Arthur said nothing.

"I see past that, Arthur. You are _so_ much better than you make yourself out to be." Alfred caressed Arthur's cheek gently, brushing his unkempt sandy blond hair from his green eyes and staring into them for a moment before their lips met in a mutually clumsy kiss. Arthur's instincts took over, and he flung his arms around Alfred's neck, pulling him closer. Alfred pushed him against the wall, almost violently, and they slid down, lips still locked. Arthur broke away immediately after he regained his senses, breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded and hazy. He raised a hand to cover his mouth in embarrassment, which was one of many in the mess of emotions swimming through his mind at the moment.

"W-what the bloody hell do you think you're doing, mate?" he managed to stammer out, his words coming out more slurred and British than ever. Alfred just grinned in his usual gait, looking happier than Arthur thought was possible.

"I can die happy now, Arthur. I really can." He stood and folded his hands behind his back, whistling with content and strolling away, leaving Arthur slack jawed and dumb founded, sitting on the floor like a fool.

* * *

It was now much more complicated a matter than Arthur had originally thought. As he drove from his flat to the Cat's Cradle, he mulled over his confounding predicament, now taking into account that Alfred was quite possibly the best kisser in all of London. He had never wanted something as badly as he wanted Alfred, and it drove him up the wall. Arthur decided begrudgingly to give in for the moment and humor Alfred. Just for now, he told himself, until he grew the balls to reject the bloody American for real.

It was, as usual, exactly six o'clock when Arthur set foot in the small lounge of the Cat's Cradle. Gilbert had already arrived, along with Elizabeta, but a certain Dane and Alfred were nowhere to be seen in the front room. Gilbert nodded to Arthur as he walked directly to the piano, hardly relishing the possibility of meeting Alfred in the kitchen. Setting his things under the piano bench, he began to play the first few bars of a pop song he had heard on the radio that morning. Customers arrived slowly, as they always did, and once again, the group of rowdy men made their way to the bar where Denmark now stood. They had been coming to the lounge for the past week or so, always accompanied by a solitary sober young blond. Denmark was obvious in his attraction to this young man, and Arthur wouldn't be surprised to find the pair of them sucking each other's faces off outside of the restroom one of these days. Arthur envied their ability to be so open with their desires, and to so easily forget each other when things didn't work out.

And now the dreaded and anticipated moment came. He was here, Alfred, in the flesh, walking briskly and cheerfully toward the piano like nothing was wrong, but it was. Arthur was a millimeter away from a panic attack when Alfred sat himself on the edge of the piano bench, without a care in the world, humming and smiling. Arthur tried his best to pull himself together.

"A-Alfred." He cursed that damn stutter. "Alfred I've decided something." He managed to say this without stumbling all over his words like a bumbling idiot, but he could feel heat rise to his face quickly. Alfred turned to his green-eyed bench mate inquisitively.

"Yeah?" he asked, hesitant and apparently cautious to disturb their one-sided peace. At the moment, Alfred was somewhat content with his situation, which was more than could be said for Arthur, who was on the verge of an ugly nervous breakdown.

"I will, just this once, allow you to t-take me out on Saturday."

Alfred's eyes were, by now, the size of dinner plates, and pulled Arthur into a happy embrace before dashing into the kitchen, most likely to tell Elizabeta the 'big news'. Arthur resisted the overwhelming urge to slam his head on the keys of his piano and communicate the sound of his thoughts.

* * *

It had become the norm for Arthur to catch little to no sleep during the few hours he had at home since Alfred had come into his life, but tonight, he couldn't even think about sleeping, and he spent nine hours surfing the internet, laughing at silly cat videos, and laying on the rug in the fetal position, just thinking. By the time morning rolled around, he resembled a tired raccoon, and it took him extraordinary lengths of time to complete the simplest tasks, such as getting out of bed, putting on his pants, and brushing his teeth.

However, to Arthur's great surprise, no remarks were made when Arthur arrived to the office. Not even Matthew, who Arthur was sure would have known, (since Arthur had recently discovered that Alfred and Matthew were, in fact, brothers.) said nothing outside of the usual chatter. It seemed that Alfred was tight-lipped after all, which was a shock.

As Arthur made his way up the stairs with Matthew, he caught a glimpse of striking golden hair in his peripheral vision, sliding into the men's bathroom quietly.

"Matthew," Arthur said, looking to the door of the bathroom. "Excuse me for a moment?"

Matthew nodded politely and Arthur made a near dash for the restroom, finding to no surprise that Alfred was waiting for him from inside the door, grinning stupidly. Arthur released an endearing sigh, and he couldn't help but smile at the idiocy of his... his what? Boyfriend? Lover? Arthur honestly had no idea how to refer to him, now that they had reached this temporary agreement. In a remarkably out of character moment, he voiced his thoughts out loud. "What are you now? To me?"

Alfred looked confused, which was understandable. "Is that a rhetorical question?" he inquired, moving close to Arthur, fully exhibiting the obvious difference in height.

"Not really," Arthur was surprised at his own steady voice. "I was wondering what your opinion was. What am I to you, now?"

Alfred seemed to relax, and he leant against the wall, pondering.

"You're my boyfriend," he said happily and after very little thought.

_Am I really?_

But Arthur couldn't let this bloody American have all the say, could he?_  
_

"Don't get ahead of yourself, wanker. I agreed to one date. We'll see how it goes from there," he said, lightly batting Alfred on the head with the stack of papers he had been carrying. Alfred just laughed.

"Once you realize how amazing I am, you'll be begging to be mine!" he said confidently, and far too loudly. Arthur clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Ssh! We can't have people here finding out about all this, you know!" he exclaimed, looking to either side of him pointlessly.

"Why not?" Alfred grabbed Arthur by the waist, literally sweeping him off his feet, and gave him a quick peck on the mouth. "Let'em talk."

Arthur giggled quietly, simply because of Alfred's insane level of sappiness, and he hooked an arm around Alfred's neck, pulling himself back to his feet. He was, for once, nothing but happy.

* * *

Around the corner for the restroom, Francis Bonnefoy leaned against the wall, listening intently to his coworkers in the bathroom and stroking his bearded chin dramatically.

"Well this _is_ an interesting development."

* * *

A/N: I was so tempted to have Francis say "Ohonhonhon!" after that, but it would have completely ruined the mood. Anyhoo, this is really the sappiest story I've ever written, and it makes me angry with myself just to write it. But I hope you like it.

Thank you to the following reviewers!

**Quainttheatre, tealgirl713, Magicinthedark, Lolingbird, Anne Fatalism Dilettante, Iggy's Duckie**

Thank you so much for reading! Please review!


	4. Not so Temporary

ARE YOU READY FOR THE SAPPY CONCLUSION.

Well I hope so, because it's about to go down.

* * *

"Arty baby!" Arthur groaned loudly at the endearing pet name, turning in his rolling chair to face the cheerful American that called to him. Alfred held a stack of paper in his hand, and he waved it in Arthur's direction before slapping it onto his desk with a grin. "You think you could make thirty copies of those for me? Thanks." He winked his most infuriating wink possible and strolled away, leaving Arthur to carry out his task.

What Arthur had not realized prior to diving into his relationship with the young American was that Alfred, despite his young age, was actually Arthur's superior around the office. Aside from the terribly cliché story of the affair between the boss and his employee, this meant that Arthur was at Alfred's beck and call, a feature of the job that Alfred completely and gleefully exploited. Arthur was commanded to complete the simplest tasks, things that Alfred could easily have done himself, and it was maddening for an aggressive man like Arthur. (Arthur secretly enjoyed being dominated, not that he would ever enlighten Alfred to that fact.)

Once they reached the lounge however, Alfred was clingy and childish, suddenly the unexperienced newbie and to this, Alfred took much delight. And so the days continued with Alfred's annoying supremacy by day and his amusing submissiveness by night. They had gone on a few modest dates, just walking around London, getting to know one another and sitting on wooden park benches eating ice cream. Arthur had visited Alfred's apartment frequently as well, which meant everything that it might have implied. But still, nothing big, nothing binding.

There was a certain comfort in the casual air that Alfred unintentionally carried with him. When they were together, Arthur was always reassured that he wasn't making any promises, that he could always quit if he wanted to and no one would be angry. There was no lack of passion, oh no, in fact Alfred was one of the most passionate people Arthur had had the pleasure of knowing. It wasn't the 'I want to sleep with you and then never hear of you again', Francis brand of casual. Their relationship was the sweet and fleeting romance that Arthur had always craved, and Alfred was, even without his knowledge, a true romantic.

In short, it was exhilarating.

Today, it was Sunday, the one day of the week on which neither Alfred nor Arthur worked. It was usually on Sundays that they spent time together, and today they walked along a river, doing nothing in particular. It was evening, and the water sparkled under the city lights above it as large cargo ships traveled the length of the river. The chilled November air left the pair of them with rosy cheeks and noses while the rest of their bodies were covered in layer upon layer of outerwear. Arthur exhaled slowly and watched his breath appear in a white cloud briefly before it disappeared into space. He turned his head to Alfred, who gazed at him silently. Arthur spoke, quietly at first,

"I want to love someone." His words caught Alfred's attention, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Not the first kind of love, where you tear at each other's skin in a futile attempt to get closer and eventually come to the horrible realization that you can never fully occupy one another and you're still both alone," Arthur continued, ignoring Alfred's constantly shifting expression. "I want the slow, reassuring kind of love, the kind of love where you realize that there are other people out there and you have to work to keep the one you love interested, find little gifts to give them from time to time, and know when you need to let go if that time comes. I want an prolonged love that I can rely on." He turned to Alfred, cutting off his rambling. "Sorry, i guess you don't need to hear that," Arthur laughed, scratching his neck nervously.

"No," Alfred mumbled before pulling Arthur in a frantic kiss that grew slower as they eased into each other. Arthur's arms crept around Alfred's neck and Alfred's around Arthur's waist, their lips working against one another's. When they finally broke away, clouds of white breath filled the air between their almost touching faces. Arthur sighed, running his thumb over Alfred's cheek.

"I'm pretty sure this is the first kind of love," he sighed, a chuckle escaping along with his words. Alfred laughed, throwing his head back and kissing Arthur quickly on the cheek.

"We'll have to work on that."

"Yes, yes you will," a new voice intervened, and the pair turned to the direction of shoes clicking on cobblestone. Francis walked towards them, smiling hatefully and tossing his shiny hair over his shoulder. Arthur's expression turned into one of disgust and discomfort, and he pulled out of Alfred's arms to walk toward the approaching Frenchman.

"Do you mind, Francis?" He said the name as if it tasted horrible, and he made a sour expression to match. "We were sort of having a moment."

Francis smirked and ran a hand through Arthur's unkempt hair. "I could see that, darling. It just reminded me of when we were still together." Arthur pointed his finger in warning.

"Arthur?" Alfred's voice sounded from behind them, and they both ceased their quarreling for a moment to look at the American. "Is that true? You were with this asshole?" Francis made a slight grunt of protest, but Arthur hushed him, addressing Alfred.

"Yes, I was, but that's not really releva-" Francis cut him off.

"We were together for five years," the Frenchman said, smirking and resting a hand on Arthur's shoulder, only to be shrugged off.

"While that may be true, you and I both know that our relationship was purely physical, nothing more," Arthur huffed, taking Alfred by the arm and leading him away. "Come on Alfred, let's get away from this wanker."

Francis made only the slightest protest as they walked further and further away.

"What was that?" Alfred asked skeptically, pouting slightly. Arthur sighed, exasperated.

"We have this thing, where he bothers me into sleeping with him and I do from time to time. I guess now that I found a real man and can't be his fuckbuddy anymore, he's a little upset. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"But you would worry about it a little?" Alfred said, still pouting. Arthur laughed, nudging his companion playfully.

"Oh, Brighten up."

* * *

This was bad, very bad. Arthur now found himself pinned against the red brick wall that faced an alley on the East side of the Cat's Cradle by none other that Francis Bonnefoy, unable to escape and praying to God that Alfred didn't walk out of that door and see him like this. Francis smirked unsurprisingly and leaned in to whisper something.

"I miss you, you know. And I'm sure you miss me." His breath was a familiar warmth against Arthur's ear, a sensation that had made Arthur weak in the knees at a time, but no longer had the same effect. The Englishman beat a useless fist against his confiner's chest, his face twisting into the sourest of expressions.

"Stop being a clichè fool, Francis. Your little whatever it is has been one-sided for years, and now that I have a normal goddamn relationship, I have no reason to see you ever again, and I certainly have no time for your imaginary drama, which is disgustingly French, by the way," Arthur huffed, still battling in vain to escape Francis' hold.

As they bickered and argued almost as a couple might (It could be agreed upon that any relationship involving Arthur Kirkland would not be free of argument.), a skeptical eye observed from the kitchen of the Cat's Cradle. Alfred was not entirely sure what to make of this situation, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take it lying down, and before he could even think of what to say to the pair, he was out the back door and standing in a semi-battle stance, looking extraordinarily cross for someone of his cheerful disposition. "What in the hell are you doing, Arthur?" he said, eyebrows furrowing further with a full view of Arthur's postion.

Arthur gave a firm push to Francis' chest and the Frenchman stepped away tentatively. "Alfred, it's not what it looks like," Arthur stammered in an attempt to quiet Alfred's obviously growing anger.

"How the hell could it not be what it looks like?!" Alfred yelled. He expression was tortured, his fists clenched by his sides and shoulders square. It was obvious that he had been betrayed before, and this was his retaliation, to always be suspicious. In truth, he had suspected from the moment first he met Francis that he would be haphazard to their already fragile relationship. He had already been on guard.

But now his gut feelings were confirmed, and he felt anger and betrayal tighten around his chest as he fought to maintain his calm. He spoke as quietly and as smoothly as he could, "Arthur, can we talk," He turned to glare at Francis before continuing. "... in private?" His voice was unmistakably uneven, and Arthur nodded nervously, following Alfred across the street to Alfred's small apartment. Arthur had spent a considerable amont of time there since he had Alfred had begun dating, more time, in fact, than he liked to admit, and so it was no odd thing that Alfred would take him there to discuss alone.

Alfred's apartment was a pleasant place, even if it was a bit patriotic. The walls were decorated with all manner of posters and memorabilia. A signed baseball was displayed on a wooden desk to one corner of Alfred's bedroom along with a miniature American flag and a framed photograph of Alfred's brother. The room was a little messy but homey, and at any other time, Arthur would have been delighted to be spending his time there. Now, however, the room seemed intimidating, as if it foretold the impending harsh words and slamming doors that were sure to come from this little 'discussion'.

Alfred heaved a frustrated sigh and turned his gaze toward Arthur. He stood leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest and posture slouched. "Arthur, I'm going to try my best to be calm, and I want you to explain to me what the fuck you were doing with him in a goddamn alley up against a wall." Alfred's tone was uncharacteristically shaky and demanding. He was normally so gentle...

"Alfred, it was nothing. I don't know what's wrong with Francis, I mean he's always forward, but to not this extent and I-" Alfred cut him off.

"And you what, Arthur? You're sorry?" Alfred said loudly, bordering on a yell. He pushed off of the wall and began to approach Arthur at his full height.

"Yes, of course I am, and I really think you're overreacting."

"Arthur, he had you _up against a wall_ for Christ's sake! I can't just sit here and let sorry make it all better! You have to understand that!" Alfred's voice was frantic and strained, and he now stood inches away from his lover, grasping Arthur's shoulder desperately.

'"I do Alfred, but it really didn't mean anything!" Arthur protested, wincing from the pain Alfred was causing in his shoulder.

"You could have stopped him if you were really so opposed to it!" Alfred now mimicked Francis, pushing Arthur against the wall and banging his fist beside Arthur's head.

This, Arthur could not deny. Although he wasn't interested in Francis' games, there was something about his scent, his familiar facial expressions, the low octave of his voice, that broke Arthur's defenses almost entirely, made his knees weak. He suddenly felt at fault. He felt awful for making Alfred feel so vulnerable and afraid, and he raised a hand to the younger man's cheek.

_Poor boy._

"Alfred..." Arthur breathed, wounded by the American's pained expression. His anger had been replaced by a forlorn gaze, his eyes frightened and longing as he pressed against the Englishman, their breath intermingling as a brief silence fell on the small room.

"Do you love me, Arthur?" Alfred said, his voice trembling in a mix of nervousness and yearning, his hand moving to Arthur's hair and running through it. Arthur hesitated, his breath heavy, sweat forming on his brow. He swallowed hard and met Alfred's gaze, steeling his nerves to answer,

"Yes."

* * *

A/N: THIS STORY IS OFFICIALLY OVER. Good god, writing that kind of sap makes me feel like a bad person. I better stick with tragedy from here on.

Thanks to the following reviewers!:

Iggy's Duckie, guesswhoitsme, IronicSheep, Anne Fatalism Dilettante, and MagicInTheDark. You guys are awesome!

Anyway, consider this my Christmas gift to you. If you liked it, remember to leave a review, and happy holidays!


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